


Instead of Words

by Anarhichas



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarhichas/pseuds/Anarhichas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikasa’s head is clear. She can hear Jean’s pained breath behind her, can plot the boundaries of the room and its occupants in abstract battle formation. She knows that the man holding a knife to Armin’s throat, loose but undeniable, cannot be allowed to escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instead of Words

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a comment left by Gashka!
> 
> Concrit more than welcome.

Mikasa’s head is clear. She can hear Jean’s pained breath behind her, can plot the boundaries of the room and its occupants in abstract battle formation. She knows that the man holding a knife to Armin’s throat, loose but undeniable, cannot be allowed to escape. 

Armin’s round face is wet with tears, bruised and swelling from abuse. His arms are tied tight behind him and he rests his weight on his right leg. The man’s hand not holding a knife is smothering his mouth. He is still alive and in this world that’s all that really matters.

It is a stand-off. Mikasa is unused to stand-offs – her experience is in backing up or saving Eren, who has never bothered in something so patient. She cannot see how to end this and that lack of knowledge burns.

Her head is clear but her heart rages, furious. It demands Armin’s return to her.

There is no way of separating the man and Armin that she can see. If the man gets through the door at his back he will likely kill Armin and, in this maze of buildings, escape. If the man escapes the Scouting Legion will be in disgrace. The punishment for their crimes, pushed by the Wall Cult and Military Police, will be execution.

It is as she considers the vague thought that this situation would probably be more favourable had their two positions been switched, Armin catches her eye. His look is pointed. He knows something and is trying to tell her it.

Mikasa knows Armin. She has watched him for so many years now – watched the small quirks of his mouth and the brightness of his round eyes, the differences in his furrowing brows when he is earnest and when he is uncertain. She understands the shapes of his eyelids and the depth of their crinkle. She knows he has a plan.

His eyes move from hers’ to the floor and back again. She knows without having to look that there is a handgun there, discarded from the earlier fight and left forgotten. She remembers the exact placement, the angle and model.

Mikasa frowns, the slightest movement. How will she be able to shoot without hitting Armin?

Armin’s eyes are wide and sure. He moves his foot, the left one. He will kick the man’s shin and drop down in time for Mikasa to grab the gun and shoot.

Mikasa’s mouth pulls out into a thin line. The knife at his throat surely makes that too dangerous.

Armin frowns in disagreement as he blinks deliberately. Do it, he says.

Mikasa tilts her head. Yes, she says, but I am not happy. Still, she trusts Armin. Her right hand unclenches in anticipation of the grip of the cold gun in her palm. They need to do this quickly and together.

Are you ready? Armin’s widening eyes ask.

Yes, Mikasa replies with a slow blink, holding his gaze.

Armin’s leg jerks up and Mikasa doesn’t see it brought down in the kick. She drops to the floor, grabs the gun, levels and shoots in one smooth movement.

The man and Armin both crumple to the floor, rolling separate as they land.

The air bursts with noise. Levi curses as he runs the long paces forward. Jean is shouting: ‘The hell, Armin – Armin–’, muffled through a broken nose, he barely limps as he finds his way to Armin’s side. Connie and Sasha are crowding forwards.

The gun hangs loose in Mikasa’s fingers. She walks forward and with her free hand pulls Jean out of the way.

Armin lies on the ground. His white shirt sticks to the skin of his chest, drenched and no longer white. His ribs heave, uneven, messy, and the sound of bubbling fluid emerges from them. He catches Mikasa’s eye and opens his mouth but instead of words blood gushes out.

His eyes, riddled with pain and apology, say: thank you.

It’s louder than the shouting in her ears.

‘The fuck, fuck, why’d you shoot–’ Jean’s voice is torn but not from his earlier beating.

‘He told me to,’ Mikasa finds herself replying. And why? Why is Armin bleeding, coughing and breathless, the sucking sounds of his punctured body terrible? Why hadn’t his plan worked?

She drops the gun and cuts the rope tying Armin’s wrists. Levi is tilting him onto his side, letting the blood run from his mouth and nose, thick, bubbling up like soap suds, pockets of transparency in the flood of red.

Mikasa holds his hands. They clench back weakly, cold.

His plan had worked. This had been the plan all along.

Armin shudders as he curls up. He hacks and splutters, drowning slowly. Levi lies him back into the growing puddle on the floor. ‘Well done, Armin,’ he says softly, as he picks up the gun. Armin’s eyes flicker to him, then to the faces behind him. They settle on Mikasa. This time the language in them is foreign.

Levi nudges the barrel into Armin’s open, shivering mouth, and shoots.

.

They return late that night. Eren’s honest, anxious face looks to her and Mikasa can not meet his eyes. She turns away.

‘Hey,’ he says, and laughs a short and nervous laugh. ‘Where’s – where’s Armin?’


End file.
